Family Portraits
by Reading Disorder
Summary: The silent ones always have the most to say. Chapter 3: Gothel
1. Maximus

_**Author's Note**: A contribution from a ghost writer who had requested to stay anonymous. A fellow fanfic author, an unexpected friend, and the best Biology lecturer in the universe. Hint hint: current gene tech makes it completely possible for us to make bioluminescent hair. Isn't that great? But I digress. Enjoy._

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><p>He's definitely *not* as I expected…<p>

I expected someone a little more… sinister…

A monster of sorts – dark heart, wicked mind, damned soul . . . quick of hand and quicker of tongue to devastate and decimate . . . ah, and an evil leer! Every bandit, thug and villain _must_ have an evil leer!

This one…? He must've failed the Evilness Course, or else not have received an Evilness Manual, or something in-between... he looked too clean to have done very much Evilness, and entirely unscathed – hmm, a green apprentice perhaps, haven't yet started Evilness 101? His movements too predictable – like a street urchin having perfected the art of stealing bread, not princess crowns. And he smiled overly much!

Or was that because of _her_?

Oh…

_*Oh*._

I was once like that: orphaned youngling growing into surly rebel maturing into lost youth surrounded by the wrong company… But the Captain soon put me straight – indeed he did, with firm attention but genuine affection (mixed in with lots of half-carrots and sugar cubes); I grew out of my ways and earned his respect, what with my dashing good looks and handsome features, my stout legs and strong legs and—

—where was I again . . .?

\\o/

She's doing it again – her eyes shine brighter than the sun gleaming in the sky. Emerald scales sitting on the horn of my saddle grins and nods with approval. She swirls and beckons him to dance. He waves dismissal…

Ooh, a delicious idea . . .

A jut of the rump and he's glaring at me, being whisked away by that slip of a girl whose strength, somehow, none can compare; I neigh with delight – he'd get over it soon enough… How do I know this? Because . . because . . . hmm . . .

Because, somewhere between having his boot in my mouth and spitting his wanted poster back onto his face, a strange fondness has crept over me. Because, of all the things I could hate him for, the one thing I cannot deny is that he has a heart of gold. Because, under the mask he insists he wears – maybe, just maybe, he's just like me . . .

He needs a Captain in his life.

Wait – I can do that, can't I?

After all, he _so_ needs me right now … he's a little lost in life, needing a push in the right direction – and if that push sends him into the path of all things good (or just into Golden Girl's arms), then good on me (Matchmaker Maximus, ahah)! A nip here, a nudge there, a hoof in the gut every now and then to seal the bargain . . .

. . . I'd think I'd call him Minimus.

\\o/

He's talking to me. As in, really _talking_ to me . . .

. . . do I detect a hint of apology in his endless babble of graciousness…?

He doesn't have to, you know… I would've come anyway… After all, as insane as it sounds, I chose this one to be my burden…

As the saying goes: he's not heavy… he's my brother…


	2. Pascal

**Pascal**

She's been there, quite literally, *all* my life…

I do not remember my mother at all – she left us (all 14 sisters and 17 brothers, and me) to fend for ourselves even as unhatched younglings yet nestled in our eggs, burying her legacy in the soil of some random pot bound for one Madame Gothel's yearly shopping cart…

I barely even remember all my siblings – how my eldest brother Isaac boasted about changing his colours faster than we could 'blink' (but we cannot *blink*, hence he could've taken forever if he so desired!), how my eighth sister Josephine showed off her nimbleness by climbing to the highest branch the fastest (in retrospect, her so-called _branch _was really just the top of the plant by the main window, barely three feet tall at the time), how lucky Leo could swallow a whole grasshopper for lunch and catch a dozen flies for seconds right afterwards (and no wonder, he had the largest mouth of us all; more often I avoided him, scared that he might one day eat *me*)…

But I remember her – my first everlasting memory…

It was the day Madame Gothel – who, in a fit of vanity, decided she should be called 'Mother' Gothel – snapped with more-than-her-usual impatience at the endless stream of curiosities her young charge forever asked about… The very same Madame Gothel – who, in little over an hour, wiped out my entire family of siblings with a broom (for they grew twice as fast and thrice as long as I did, hence were a hundred times more conspicuous), her shrieks ringing within my deaf ears…

Reimann and Pierre made it out the window, Rene and Emma squeezed through invisible cracks; some were enchanted with unnatural appendages and patterns, like Georg – he grew three horns on his face and would be known as a Jackson's Chameleon later in life because no one bothered to ask his name…

Me? Madame Gothel missed me because I was huddled at the base of my home-tree, too tiny to be seen. You see, I was the last one to hatch – puny number thirty-two, no bigger than a dew-drop, truly the runt of the litter… As pottery crashed and books tumbled and paints splattered everywhere a vivid hue, I whimpered and wished that if I were to die, I hoped it would not hurt…

She found me quite by accident, while clearing the debris left from the fight, sobbing and sniffling and sad… She smacked me with a dustpan first, of course, thinking I was an 'evil demonling, come to steal her hair (or soul)(or worst)'; she smacked me harder when I changed colours – an alarming red against her mosaic floor…

Then she was fascinated, I think; and for a moment, her sorrow was forgotten… She fingerpainted the floor next to me, and I obligingly matched it; another and another and another – shade for shade, tint for tint – and soon a portrait was born, one that would be completed over the rest of our lives…

I took to calling her my sister…

But I always thought of her as my elder sister – for she towered over me by a thousand times (my eyes be blamed, such a boggling sight), was a hundred times my weight (I still weigh less than a kitten, yet just as cute) and could do so much more than I ever could (how does she *train* her hair? Is it an extension of her? Or worst, does it creep about with a life of its own?)… She cared for me and fed me (and bathed me *brr* and clothed me *grr*) and generally kept me out of Madame Gothel's hair (quite literally, because I've been tempted so many times – trampling on her head and messing with her mind)…

An ordinary week turned upside down – my _sister_, new and naïve, trusting a strange outsider with a bad haircut (whose ear tasted foul and brain must be addled)… my _sister_, isolated and innocent, frolicking amongst trees and thugs all in the same day (note to self: rats are weird, horses weirder still)… my _sister_, sweet and sincere, pouring out her heart and soul to colour the streets and charm an entire town (Horse and I had an understanding – I'd persuade my sister to hug him more if he can dissuade his brother from scamming her less)…

Indeed, she was my elder sister… and I her little brother…

But for the first time in my life, I felt the need to reverse our roles. How dare he – Horse – disobey my little sister, snapping and stomping his hooves like a spoiled foal? How dare he – Outsider with Broken Smolder – drag my little sister into dangerous unknowns; first a mad grog-house, then a flooding mine, finally leaving her on some shaded shore in the middle of the night?

How dare *_she_* – malicious and malevolent Madame Gothel – threaten my little sister, forcing her to leave the only happiness she's ever known?

So I did what any big brother would – I protected my sister in whatever manner I could; be it baleful glares promising death (or sticky tongues) at incompetent fledglings or causing the accidental demise of a partially-deserving parent…

Oh my, they were right: the bigger they are, the harder they *_do_* fall…

The lines between us blur; what we call ourselves, even we cannot decide.

But that's okay, because the ties that bind aren't always by blood; and in this little family of our choosing - a horse, an outlaw-in-law, a magical-flower-girl and a chameleon - it is more than enough.


	3. Gothel

Your petals gleam, taking away my sickness; your center glows, taking away my pain… The years fall away as you shine, reversing time to return me to my prime…

How wonderful you are, my precious flower…

My skin draws taut; scars fading, hues changing… My hair lightens; its colours bright, its curls tight… My body shifts; realigning, redesigning… I am reborn into my second life, again and again…

How lovely you are, my dear flower…

As the years whirl by, I watch you grow; from the seedling you were to the sprout of youth and the blossom you would become… Yet even as you begin to mature; from a babe to the child and finally the youngling – I remain as I am: an ageless beauty, forever fair…

How generous your gift, my beloved flower…

No longer requiring _just_ an outcropping overlooking the sea, how should I hide you? No longer needing _just_ the occasional sun and rain for sustenance, how should I feed you? Not a basket, but clothes… Not only grass, but a home… A small price to pay, but well worth my while; I must find ways to make you happy…

Are you happy, my little flower?

Never doubt I love you – and I do *so* love you… I would protect you with my life, nurture you with my soul – for you *are* my life, and you *shall* safeguard my soul… Without you, my world would shatter; an empty shell of hollow future…

Do not leave me, my pretty flower…

But today… Today, you ask for the impossible – you speak of the unthinkable! How dare you suggest such betrayal? How dare you imagine such treason? You are only a flower – you are *my* flower! My secret prize, my treasured horde! Mine, and no one else's! Mine, and mine alone!

Where did you attain such fire? When did you become so bold? How did you find out so much? Who has shown you the light?

Your eyes gleam gold, determination rising; your aura glows, courage renewed… The love you have for this man outshines that of what you reserved for me, like a shimmering halo eclipsing the sun… I am forced to acknowledge what is and what is not, forced to see what you are and are not: not a flower, but a person… not a flower, but a woman…

Not a flower – but a princess… and your name is Rapunzel…

… but to me, you shall ever be, my… sweet… flower…


End file.
